The Inheritance of Classical Rock
by Bruteaous
Summary: Classical meets Rock. How Michiru and Haruka meet, fall in love, and come to claim their destinies before season S. In the same world as 'The Die is Cast' and 'Take me Away', but this story stands on it's own.
1. Hope Has A Place

_**The Inheritance of Classical Rock**_

_**Author's Note:**_Another heads up before anyone reads this. This story is another companion piece, this time to both _The Die is Cast_ and _Take Me Away_ which is focused upon Haruka and Michiru, though you don't need to have read those pieces to know what is going on in this one as they are all separate from one another. I guess this is sort of becoming a series so I need to come up with a name of what exactly to call it. Hmmm…If anyone has any suggestions as to what to call it feel free to put them out there! I'd be happy to hear them! :D

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Sailor Moon or any of its characters (as much as I might like to ;).

_**Chapter One: Hope Has a Place **_

January 27, 1986

The end of his cigarette was glowing, a spot of charged orange light in the darkness of the room. Kenshin Tenoh leaned back in the chair of his corner office and let a steady stream of smoke bellow out from his parted lips. That done, he opened and closed his mouth lazily before reaching up abstractly to push his thick black rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose.

Why did it have to be so cold in Tokyo in the wintertime? Oh why oh why couldn't the snow and the abrasive wind take a holiday for once?

Taking a few long drags off of his cigarette, he rolled his neck, listening to it pop as he prepared to stand and leave the office for the night. It was a Tuesday, so tonight would be curry rice for dinner which he didn't mind in all honesty. His wife Moriko was a fabulous cook and no one starved in their household. Least of all the guests, when they had them, though they had welcomed fewer and fewer into their home since Moriko had told him she was expecting, much to his wife's chagrin.

Making his beautiful better half angry was about as taxing on Kenshin's health as smoking was and a much more immediate threat to his quality of life. He had tried his best to make life easier on her since she had told him she was pregnant and he had damn near tried to exile her to one side of the house once they had found out she would be having twins (though an ultimatum from him wasn't saying much—especially since she would be the one bringing two little creatures the size of rotisserie chickens into the world through an opening in her body that was considerably smaller than they would be—and she was never going to let him forget it either).

There were days that Kenshin was definitely grateful for a job that was not only miles away from home, but that also safely stowed him twenty or so floors above his wife and mainland Tokyo.

They were the Tenohs.

They, mind you, they—two twenty-three year old university graduates who couldn't cook real food, neither of them, and didn't own a pet for fear that they would forget to feed it—were going to be the parents of TWO children at once! Ever since his young wife had found out, she had begun to worry, naturally, at their candidacy for their random lucky streak in nature's twisted lottery.

But after the first few months of being pregnant. After morning sickness, swollen ankles, impeded movement forwards, backaches, and the loss of the ability to clearly see her own feet, Moriko had warmed to the idea of being a mother twice over—though it was lost on Kenshin why such agonies would make his wife do a full 360, but she did and he was happy for it. It would make his job as supportive father easier. He probably wouldn't do very well learning on his own, but so long as he had Moriko to guide and yell him through it, he was pretty sure it would turn out to be a successful, if otherwise interesting adventure for the both of them.

The door to his office propped open a spec before he had the chance to get through it.

"You ready yet, son?"

It was Okida, his father-in-law, ready to ride with him on the train home. He hated the train. It was hot, stuffy, and crowded. He much preferred his bikes, but his motorcycles made his wife nervous and she'd asked him to lock them away in storage until the babies were born—when she was hoping they would be able to trade them in for a family vehicle.

It was just one more indication that his days of freedom, of unattached abandon where his only obligations had been to his bike, the road, and himself were finally over.

"Almost." He replied.

Kenshin exhaled the last of the smoke from his lungs and leaned forward to snub the stub of his cigarette in the ash tray hidden in his drawer. As a finally precaution, he plugged in the air filter at the other side of his office and then moved back to plug in the air freshener by his desk.

Okida watched him with a blank expression on his face.

"You should really work at kicking that habit, Kenshin. It could get you fired."

Kenshin's last measure was to pop a mint into his mouth from his coat pocket as he threw it on along with his hat.

"And you need to learn how to be on time, Okida."

* * *

It was the second time in two weeks that Kenshin's mother-in-law had invited he and Moriko to their home for dinner and the first time they'd refused. Moriko had said she just didn't feel up to it and after a day like he'd had at work, Kenshin agreed.

He slumped back against the couch in their modest bungalow, his feet, still complete with dark socks propped up on the coffee table. His hands were thrown up across the couch back and his eyes were closed. If it hadn't been for the slow rhythm of rising and falling from his chest, then he would have looked dead.

"Sweetheart?" Moriko called from the kitchen somewhere behind him.

Kami, he didn't want to answer. He just wanted to fall asleep here.

"Kenshin."

The call was more low pitched the second time around, more demanding.

He sighed and sat up a bit, running both hands through his disheveled blond hair as he leaned over the coffee table.

"What?"

This was the grumpy part and the ugliest reality of pregnancy for an expectant father.

"Kenshin Tenoh, you lazy good for nothing ingrate, get up off of that couch and get in here!"

Kenshin sighed and stood up, taking a few deep breaths before he walked into the kitchen. When he looked up he was surprised at what he saw. His wife was gripping the counter top and staring down at a puddle of water that had collected between her feet. He swallowed and didn't make a move to get any closer, just pointed to the puddle on the floor.

"What is that?"

Moriko's eyes had been as wide as saucers, but when she looked up they narrowed along with her sharp tone, "What in the hell do you think that is?! My water just broke."

Kenshin just stared at her some more.

"Kenshin please, make yourself useful and go get the suitcase I packed last week and call a taxi and the hospital while I clean this up." Moriko ordered him.

He swallowed again and turned down the hall and pulled a suitcase out of the hall closet. Then, getting back into the living room, he picked up the phone and dialed the number for the hospital. After he was done with that call he held down the receiver and then released it, dialing the number for the Taxi company. A man had just come over the line when he heard a strange noise come from the kitchen. It sounded like water being spilled and something falling.

Giving in to his better judgment, Kenshin hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen. A bucket of water was spilled all over the floor, mingling with a trail of blood that led him to the prone body of his wife sprawled by the counter.

* * *

Kenshin Tenoh was his father's second son. He'd never been good at doing what was expected of him and almost nothing had ever been expected of him so he'd been short changed in both ways.

So he was useless in a lot of situations and particularly in a crisis.

He'd called the hospital back and had an ambulance sent out to get them. That much he knew how to do. And the paramedics knew their jobs well too.

They'd taken all of Moriko's vitals and had determined that her blood pressure was high and that was what had caused her to pass out, initially. When they had arrived at Tokyo General, the paramedics had taken her into surgery and left him in the hallway.

And there Kenshin remained. Seated on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, back to the wall, head in his hands and his fingers gingered through his hair.

He hadn't thought to call anyone else, not even his in-laws and he wasn't sure what he would say to them if he did. Kenshin Tenoh had never been gifted with words. Whenever he and his wife went out with friends or to a work party she usually did all of the talking for him and stayed close by him so that he wouldn't feel or appear out of place.

It usually did the trick. It usually made him feel useful or at least wanted. But he didn't know what to feel when he wasn't feeling either one of those things.

Kenshin ran a wrist over his eyes, rubbing each one individually.

It'd been two hours and no one had told him anything. Was that normal?

Kenshin remembered the night he'd met his wife. At the house of a friend who lived near him in student housing. His friend, Eiji, had had a small gathering at his house whom he'd cooked dinner for and had invited over for a drink if they would like.

Originally, Kenshin hadn't been invited. He'd been in his apartment, repairing a part on his motorcycle on his kitchen counter. Once he'd retweaked the part he was sure was broken he put it back on the bike and revved it up—again in the middle of his kitchen. This had backfired when the bike—not braced on the floor sturdily enough and held back by nothing but his own hands—got away from him and slammed into the railing of his balcony, which stopped the bike but caused his right side mirror to go smashing down onto the balcony of the apartment that had actually belonged to his friend during his party.

Well, not being endowed with patience among other things. Kenshin had gone down stairs in his jeans and grease stained t-shirt to ask for his mirror back. The grad student had let him in and once he had gotten his mirror, he had actually talked him into staying. Against a backdrop of button up shirts and well groomed appearances, Kenshin knew he was nothing impressive so he didn't even try to impress anyone there.

But apparently he had impressed someone, Moriko. The way she told the story. He had sat in his chair and ate with manners that seemed to suggest that he was more than just an uncouth grease monkey. And she'd wanted to find out if there really was more to him than there'd seemed to be. Well after six months of dating she had been and was now convinced that he had more potential than he gave himself credit for in many ways.

So she'd married him, the grease monkey, convinced that he was a talented boy with the potential to become a great man.

It wasn't a story Kenshin wasn't particularly proud of, but Moriko could tell it at a party and make it sound cute.

He leaned his head back against the wall and let his arms hang down to the floor, green eyes staring up at the dull polyester ceiling as if expecting a miracle.

This was why Kenshin didn't immediately notice the man come out of the double doors down the hall and start towards him. When he was almost on top of him, the man called his name.

"Mr. Tenoh?"

Kenshin scrabbled to his feet and the man extended his hand to him.

"My name is Dr. Olen and I need to talk to you about you wife."

"Is she—"

"No, she pulled through alright and she's going to be fine, but there are still things we need to discuss."

He motioned Kenshin towards a small seating area at the end of the hall by the elevators. Once they were both seated, the blond glared up at the other man and the doctor cleared his throat preparing to begin.

"Well, like I said, you're wife is going to be fine, but as for the twins…only one survived." Here he paused, letting the news sink in, "There were two initially a boy, who was born first, and a girl, but only the girl survived the birth. You're wife said you'd both agreed on a name?"

The floor seemed to sink from beneath Kenshin's feet. A girl? What was he going to do with a girl? The boy was supposed to be for him. They were supposed to be able to build model cars together, do wheelies on manual peddle bikes, and race real ones one day. What was he going to do with a girl?

Kenshin shook himself internally and nodded, "Haruka."

He hadn't been prepared for this. His mind stopped.

"I'm sorry", Dr. Olen began again. "This happens sometimes with first time pregnancies. The body just can't handle carrying two healthy babies to term. Now, about your wife, she's going to need a lot of support right now and we recommend bringing in extended family for this as well, since the loss of your son will be as much a loss to her as it was to you. Mr. Tenoh—"

But Kenshin had gotten up and started down the hall in the other direction. He didn't even bother with the elevators. He took the stairs and kept going until the ground floor. Once he was outside the building, he took one look back at the hospital behind him, and then hailed himself a taxi.

The driver didn't take him to the bungalow. Instead, he dropped him at a large storage complex. Kenshin got out and flicked him off, shrugging his payment. The driver went away shouting obscenities at his back, that Kenshin refused to hear. He descended the stairs that would take him to the garage floor. There, Kenshin, unlocked the door with trembling hands and slammed the door behind him. Switching on the light, twelve motorbikes, each one a different make, model, year, and color staring back at him.

Impatience and his former life had taken its toll on him. He wasn't cut out for this. He couldn't believe that he had ever thought he would be.

He needed to find shelter someplace, to ride as far and as long as the road would take him…in a cave maybe, in some mountain where no human soul, not even people with the resources his family had, would be able to find him and bring him back.

Kenshin chose the red Suzuki closest to one of the garage doors. Keying into the hidden door beneath the leather seat, he lifted it up to reveal the storage compartment where he always kept his helmet and a matching jacket as well as a pair of clothes in a vacuum sealed bag.

He reached up and undid the tie from his neck hastily, throwing it onto the ground and stepping on it before he started on his button down shirt. He didn't even bother to undo the buttons, instead in his frenzy to just get away, he ripped through all of the buttons down the center. Angry now, he shrugged off the shirt and threw it at the door across from him.

Taking a few deep breaths, he wiped at his eyes, not calming down any and shrugged into his leather jacket. Once both layers were zipped up, he put on his helmet and kicked back the kick stand, leading his bike towards the still closed garage door. Approaching it, he reached up and pushed a button and the garage door opened for him. Kenshin paused as he looked down at the streets beginning to get slickened by the rain that had just started coming down, but only momentarily as he wheeled his bike out into the open.

Once outside, the sensor on the door closed it as Kenshin Tenoh mounted his bike, riding out into the street and away into the night.

* * *

"I had seen birth and death but had thought they were different."

-T.S. Eliot-

(1888 – 1965)

"Death, like birth, is a secret of nature."

-Marcus Aurelius-

(A.D. 121 – A.D. 180)

"A man never knows what he has while he has it, but never forgets what he loses once he's lost it."

-Anonymous-


	2. Orinoco Flow

_**Chapter Two: Orinoco Flow**_

_Fourteen or so years later…_

The black silk article of clothing was thrown haphazardly on the bed, the delicate nature and expensiveness of the impromptu imported material both simultaneously forgotten.

Kami, he hated this process.

Koichi Kaioh led a frustrating dance with the stiff collar of his newest tuxedo before he conceded defeat and in a rather violent dip of movement, he ripped the offending thing from the outfit entirely and threw it on top of his comforter to mingle with his abandoned bowtie. Moving over and towards the mirror of his armoire and the jacket which hung from its handle, he began tucking big globs of his shirt in at a time, not caring if it got wrinkled.

His hands sculpted clay and stone, they didn't play games with garments of clothing that thrived on getting the best of him.

A low whistle sounded from the hall and Koichi looked up from the mess he had made of his shirt to the sight of his younger sister fully dressed and ready for the party standing in his doorway.

"My, my Mr. Kaioh, you do clean up nicely. Most of the rumors I've heard must be true then."

"That's a bad example to set, Michiru." Koichi tried to admonish his sister as he turned back to retrieve the last bit of his ensemble from the armoire, but he smiled the whole way. "What if I believed most of the rumors I've heard about you and Mr. Mura's daughter at father's company Christmas party last year?"

Michiru stepped into the room, her hands folded in front of her as she batted her eyes innocently at her brother and grinned only slightly.

"I wouldn't blame you too much, Koichi, since most of those rumors are true."

Her brother blushed a pretty shade of crimson and tried to hide it from her by turning around and clearing his throat, but she saw it and giggled anyway.

"You're shameless, you know that?" Koichi tried, looking for any loose shred of his previous dignity to hang onto now that his sister had effectively rid him of all of it.

"Absolutely." Michiru replied pivoting in her current position, so she could better examine her brother's room and the sorry state his poor neglected bowtie and collar were in. Finally, she just settled for sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him with a twinkle in her eyes, "Shame is for the guilty. I am not guilty. I am vindicated."

Koichi sighed, finding that despite all of his trouble—or perhaps because of it—he still looked like a disheveled hobo trying on a tux for the first time. Michiru leaned back on one arm on the bed and reached out to collect her brother's rumpled bowtie and discarded collar, smoothing them both over one of her knees.

"You look good tonight, Michiru." Koichi began, trying to both shift the attention of the conversation away from him and also to break the small, gauche quiet that had snuck up between them.

Michiru smirked up at him, taking yet another opportunity to torture her brother.

"As opposed to my looking relatively bad every other night?"

Koichi yanked up most of his shirt in sheer frustration until it was mushrooming around the waist of his tuxedo trousers.

"Why must you always do that?"

"Do what?" Michiru asked innocently, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles.

"Put words in my mouth like that."

Michiru shrugged her shoulders, looking up at the back she knew was tense both from their conversation and also from its owner's limited success with his state of dress.

"Habit." She finally conceded, "Besides, what better uses would I rather put myself to right before a party than to torment my big brother?"

"You could help me with this damn thing."

Michiru raised a question eyebrow and Koichi held up the black cummerbund that was to go around his waist.

Michiru put her hand to her chest in mock surprise, "For me? Oh, Koichi, you shouldn't have."

He nearly growled at her as she stood, giggling at him, and took cummerbund from his hands as he turned his back to her again so that she could reach the sash-like thing around him and buckle it at his lower back. But Michiru took her time, fixing the chaos he'd made of the shirt by tucking it in properly and then fastening the cummerbund securely around it.

"There." Michiru said, patting his back, "All better."

"Thanks for nothing." He muttered, turning a half-hearted glare on her.

"You're Welcome." She giggled.

Michiru stretched up onto her tip toes and leaned her chin on his shoulder so that they were now both looking into the full length mirror on his wall, their faces strangely posed like some two-headed mask that would be worn to a Venetian Carnival. Koichi raised his hands in front of his chest as if he was holding onto the imaginary lapels of the jacket he had yet to put on and smiled devilishly into the mirror, blue eyes sparkling with enough reignited mischief to match his sister's.

"Well, Michiru, are you ready to go out and make a mockery of civilized society?"

"I am." She agreed, "But you're not yet."

His eyes lost their confidence and gave way to confusion as she moved away from him and retrieved the collar and bowtie from his bed. Then coming back to him, she used the imitation gold button to reattach the collar to his neck and stuff it delicately back into the collarless shirt before beginning on the bowtie. She tied it quickly and with ease, much to Koichi's envy and relief. Finished, she smiled up at him expectantly.

Koichi was never one to disappoint.

"Well?" He asked her, backing up and turning around so that she could inspect his entire outfit, "Am I ready now?"

"Hmm, "Michiru brought her hand up to her chin and seemed to give it some actual thought before shaking her head at him, "Nope, you're still missing something, though I can't think what it would be."

Koichi sighed and looked around the room. Eyeing the jacket hanging on his armoire, he quickly slid over to it and slipped the thing on. Then taking the time to smooth it down and button all three buttons, he turned towards his sister, grinning, and gave her a low bow. She curtsied to him and nodded.

"Now, you are ready."

"Finally!" Koichi stretched his arms high above his head and made a production of taking a long deep breath standing on his toes, only coming down once he'd exhaled. "About damn time."

"It wouldn't take you so long, if you'd learned how to dress yourself like a normal man."

"Hey, I've got charms that go way beyond my ability to dress up like a glorified monkey."

"A glorified what?"

The last voice came from outside the room and both Michiru and Koichi turned to see their father, Kichirou Kaioh, standing out in the hallway, still tucking in his shirt beneath his jacket.

"Monkey, father." Koichi repeated for him, "I just can't seem to get used to these damn suits."

"Believe me, son." Kichirou groaned, straightening his tie in a practiced way, "It's a life long struggle."

Michiru giggled.

"You two. What would mother say if she heard you mocking the clothes she had tailored for you just for this occasion?"

"I would say I knew it and that's why I always dress them for these events in the first place."

Natsumi Kaioh emerged from the top of the staircase leading up from downstairs. Her dress was s deep burgundy with gold threading on the scarf around her neck and the white sleeves extending down from her shoulders to the seamless gloves of the same material that began at her elbows. Her long black hair wrapped up into an elegant spiral put her almost equal in height with her husband. Kichirou's tie and vest had been fashioned to match the color and make of her dress and together they made quite an impressive couple.

Catching his hands as they nervously tried to smooth down an already flawlessly pressed jacket, Natsumi gave her husband a reassuring smile.

"You look lovely tonight, my dear." Kichirou smiled down at her.

"You'll be fine." She whispered encouragingly to him, side stepping his words and tending to the nervousness she could still see in his eyes. "Just remember, you're there as a guest and nothing more is expected of you other than just being yourself and letting everyone else follow."

Kichirou exhaled deeply to calm himself and nodded to her, "You're right, you're always right."

Natsumi leaned up and kissed his lips quickly before retreating, holding his eyes, "And you're learning."

Kichirou took another sharp breath and slipped his hands from his wife's, slapping them together as he turned to his children, "Well, are we all ready to mop the floor with stuffed shirts and polish the walls with the dull and dreary?"

Michiru nodded enthusiastically as her brother scrambled one last time with his collar and her parents turned out of the room, Natsumi taking her husband's arm as they walked.

"Mop the floor, hell, I'll make pie." Koichi said following them.

As his parents began at a sedate pace down the staircase, he sat on the railing using it to volley himself ahead of them.

Michiru just followed her family at a much safer gait down the stairs, trying for all she was worth not to laugh out loud as her brother was forced to abandon the railing and go over the other side so he didn't slide groin first into the angel at the bottom of the stairs. Kichirou sweat dropped and Natsumi sighed at her son as he came around to the front of the staircase, swatting dust from his knees.

"Koichi, dear," Their mother began, resisting the urge to bring her hand up to her forehead. "We haven't even left the house yet."

"I'm just getting a head start, mother." Koichi defended, not quite satisfied with the grayish swaths on his knees, but it wasn't like he could get rid of them.

"At what?" Kichirou asked skeptically as he led the family out the front doors and down the stoop towards the circular driveway where a car was waiting for them.

"Why making pie, of course." Michiru finished with a giggle as she smiled her gratitude at the driver who offered her his hand and helped her into the backseat of the limousine after her father.

Koichi narrowed his eyes at her as he got in on the other side and muttered, "It was just a figure of speech."

Once Natsumi was in and the driver was at the wheel, they pulled away from the curb and drove out the gates and into the city of Tokyo.

* * *

The Nihonga Ball was hosted annually by the Tokyo National Museum of Modern Art and the National Museum of Western Art and every year the Kaiohs were in attendance. As one of the richest families in the city to patron the arts, it was essential for the art museums and galleries competing amongst themselves to try their hardest to win over the head of the family, the enormously wealthy businessman Kichirou Kaioh.

Little did they know that they really didn't have to work so hard to impress him or his checkbook.

Being a mostly quiet, but observant man, Kichirou was usually able to tell the difference between someone who was generally excited to meet him and someone who was only trying to get close to him for his family's money. Though Kichirou could always well pick up on the clues on his own, his father had made a rather pomp and circumstance production of leading him around parties with him so he could learn how to deal with _those _sort of people.

As far as Kichirou had been concerned, it had been a frustrating and somewhat useless adolescent experience and had lacked interest apart from waiting to see how long his normally very ill-tempered father could try to hold back his temper while someone was trying to suck up to him.

Though he'd initially gotten very little out of it, Kichirou did note the importance of such an experience as a father-son tradition—or at least that was the excuse he used with Koichi and his wife—and tonight he was determined to lead his son around the room at least once so that he could suffer in boredom the way he had suffered. Cruel, maybe, but a very worthwhile perk of parenthood it would prove to be.

Before they had officially been announced or entered the room, Kichirou had looked over the railing down on the ballroom where all of the guests were mingling, drinking, and munching on overpriced hors d'oeuvres whose names they couldn't even pronounce and he wondered just how much of what he had learned back when he was a younger man was now obsolete.

It probably didn't matter, really, but still he couldn't help but give it some thought.

Oh well, that was that.

"How do they look down there, the rats and mice eagerly awaiting your arrival?"

Kichirou turned around and saw his Natsumi grinning at him. She really was the most beautiful woman in the world, in every way. He sidestepped her amused commentary and offered her his arm.

"Shall we, my dear?"

"We shall." She whispered, cuddling up to him a second before they reached the staircase and nuzzling his cheek to get a laugh out of him.

It worked, though the two didn't catch their son roll his eyes behind them and their lovey-dovey display or their only daughter as she frowned at him because he refused to realize that, despite the fact that they were their parents, they were still a cute couple.

"Mr. & Mrs. Kaioh."

The guests looked up at the gorgeous pair walking down the staircase and their children who were following close behind them with smiles to match their parents' and clapped as they came closer as they were obliged to do with all of their patrons. When the four were finally settled on the ballroom floor, Kichirou gave his wife's gloved hand a kiss and separated from her, taking his less than enthusiastic son with him as he chose a group whose conversation he wanted to enter.

Natsumi, on the other hand, let people come to her.

Michiru was just as used to being rushed by people as her mother, but she didn't yet have the patience to deal with each person individually or politely—though her parents assured her she would grow into it—Michiru wasn't so sure would or even wanted to. What was the point of putting on a show if you yourself weren't enjoying yourself just for everyone else's sake?

She just didn't see the point which was why, Michiru quickly, politely excused herself from the group that had surrounded her mother like a flock of finches descending on a worm—but the only difference between her mother and the worm in this situation was that Natsumi wasn't very defenseless with her athletic build and the inch and a half stilettos that supplemented it.

That's why Michiru was more than convinced that her mother would be able to handle herself alone as she caught the eye of a redheaded girl around her age maybe a little older, in a burgundy dress across the room, where she blushed prettily beside who Michiru assumed was the girl's father as the bluenette fixed her with a charming smile.

Let the games begin.

* * *

Haruka dumped the contents of her glass over the balcony railing and down into the street, not caring if it landed on some sorry sap on his way home from work or not. She wasn't in the mood to be empathetic right now.

This whole night had been a spectacular waste of her time.

This was the last time she came to a stuffy upper crust ball just because her uncle wanted to make sure that she wasn't leading an underprivileged life without knowing all of the _right_ people because he mother depended on him for financial support since her father had to be an asshole and leave them.

They'd arrived late, after most of the regular guests and rich patrons had already been escorted in and catered to which left very little to do other than mingle dejectedly with superficial people that didn't want to know them and who Haruka didn't care if she ever met again.

The last straw had come when her uncle had discretely asked her why she wasn't wearing a dress as she knew her whole family couldn't figure out why she would openly _condemn_ herself to behaving like and masquerading around as a boy. She was growing tired of having to explain it to them all of the time, sometimes more than twice a week. It just wasn't something they could or wanted to comprehend.

It was weird, odd, different, and, sin of sins; it went against the very laws of nature.

And frankly, Haruka didn't give a shit. She was who she was, everyone else be damned.

One of the ornate patio doors to the balcony that Haruka had closed behind her to give herself some distance from the pumped up people inside, opened and Ichiro Tenoh walked out onto the balcony.

"Haruka, you really should come inside." Her uncle started, straightening his tie as he talked, "A great deal of influential people were invited to this gala tonight, most of them with pocketbooks overflowing with contributions they just can't wait to give to some deserving young man or woman in support of their work. You're talent with the piano makes you a gifted musician. Any one of these families would patron you if you would only come in and charm them over."

"Pander to them you mean," Haruka muttered under her breath.

"Haruka," Ichiro started again, this time in a much firmer, sharper tone. "Your father left your mother with nothing, but debt. Now, how is she supposed to raise you and your sister on that? The only trump card your father left you to play in your favor is you're name he gave you. Luckily enough, our family has had a great deal of success in the mining business and there is not a soul in Tokyo who doesn't know who we are, but, as much as I love you girls and your mother, I cannot keep paying all of your expenses."

"Why not?" Haruka shot bitterly over her shoulder, "Grandfather left you his entire fortune and then some. You could certainly afford it."

He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes at her back as she had turned away from him again, not even dignifying him with meeting his eyes.

"Now you listen here young lady, everything I have done for you and Harumi and your mother has been out of the goodness of my heart, but now it's your turn to return the favor. You've just finished your entrance exams and soon you will be in high school and after that, university. You can't tell me that getting invited, yes invited, and then accepted to a prestigious music school like the Musashino Academia Musicae wouldn't be an honor, but how would you pay for it without a job of your own or any drive to get one? You would be in no position to be able to afford the type of education your musical talent deserves and whose fault would that be?"

Ichiro ignored the indignant look Haruka had turned around to give him and pointed towards the door he had just closed behind himself and the people milling around in the ballroom, chatting amongst themselves behind it.

"These people can give you that opportunity, Haruka. If you are able to secure even one of them as a patron then you'll be set until you can establish yourself on your own out in the world."

He straightened his collar and his cufflinks, "Now, come inside and get rid of that glass. There are some people that I would like you to meet."

At first Haruka didn't move, but then her uncle fixed her with an icy stare leaving no room for argument, "Now Haruka."

She sighed, setting the glass on the railing and leaving it there for a brash wind to carry off or knock down as she followed her uncle back into the crowded ballroom.

* * *

_This is going to end badly_, Haruka thought with more than a little trepidation as her uncle led her across the room to a people and destination unknown.

She smiled politely to everyone they passed and tried to remain as calm as possible, but in her heart she knew, something was going to happen that she wasn't going to like.

But as she walked past the closed door to what she assumed was a corridor off limits to guests, she felt a sense of nostalgia and slight déjà vu which was otherwise out of character for her. Giving the paneled door a once over again, she shook off the feeling and kept walking straight ahead ignoring the little part of her brain that recognized that she was leaving behind something she'd been missing for a millennia.

* * *

"So, Kichirou, have you seen the plan for the new memorial to go in Umeno park?" Eiji Yomora asked.

He was the CEO and founder of the Yomora Record Company and a fellow patron of the arts outside of the musical world in his spare time.

Kichirou nodded his head quietly as he sipped from his champagne glass.

"And what do you think of it?" Another man asked.

It was Kazuko Pucci, an Italian/Japanese sculptor who, if the elder Kaioh remembered right, was claimed to be patroned by the Oshida political family and who was also one of his son's most admired personages.

Kichirou regarded the thirty something man for a silent minute before answering his question with another question.

"To which are you referring, Signor Pucci, the plan for the monument or the design?" Kichirou asked in clarification before giving his opinion.

Pucci gave him a light chuckle, "Are they so separate from one another, Mr. Kaioh?"

"To my mind, yes, they are separate parts of one thing."

Koichi looked between the two as his father swallowed down the last of his champagne. The vast majority of their night spent touring the ballroom meeting people and listening to conversations about what artists were on display this month and whose exhibitions were coming up when, as well as the always boring "my pent house is bigger than your pent house" arguments among patrons had been mind numbingly boring, but now with his father gaining a little color in his cheeks and the sculptor whose work he had been admiring for the past four or five years of his life in the same conversation, things promised to get interesting.

"Well then, what do you think of them both?"

"I like them both." Kichirou said finally, "Though the plan is a little bit more directed at the individual pride of the man who drew it up than the citywide unity it's supposed to proclaim. As for the design, I think Mr. Tzu did a good job with it. The elegantly carved curves and minute details do his reputation as a sculptor credit. What is your opinion of the plan and design for the monument, Signor Pucci?"

"I think of them as one in the same, but I have to admit that I do not share your enthusiasm for Yoshihito Tzu's work."

"Really?" Kichirou wondered with some small interest, "Why is that if you don't mind my asking?

"Not at all, I just don't like how the man sees things. He acts like he's colorblind, seeing this and that aspect of life in black and white while rejecting that there is any gray, it doesn't sit well with me. To add to that his forms are archaic, they're so classic that they're predictable and mostly boring. In my humble opinion, Yoshihito's work jut doesn't seem to have much imagination to it."

Kichirou tilted his head to the side a bit in a comfortable, but cockeyed movement. "You see, I find that the classic form can be innovative. Nothing in this world is really new, just rotated, rehashed, and reformed. I believe there is much that can be done and made new using the old form as a guideline."

Pucci nodded his head and moved forward to clink his glass with Kichirou's empty one, "Well then, you and I both make very strong cases. I think we can agree to disagree."

"Of course we can," Kichirou nodded.

The other two men smiled (Pucci winking at Koichi) and moved away from them. Koichi let out a shallow breath masking the disappointment he felt. That hadn't been nearly as entertaining as he'd hoped it would be.

Koichi found he couldn't really relax yet though as his father looked over at him, no doubt wanting to ask what the wink was for, but before he could, they were approached by two other people: an older man he knew and a boy he didn't.

"Kichirou Kaioh." The blonde man cited shaking his hand fondly, "It's been a long time."

"Ichiro Tenoh." Kichirou smiled the first genuine smile of the evening. "It has been a long time. Ichiro, this is my son, Koichi, Koichi this is Ichiro Tenoh, we both attended Cambridge together."

Koichi nodded and extended his hand to Ichiro which the man took after releasing his father's, "It's nice to finally meet you, sir. My father had told us a lot of stories about his infamous roommate during his undergraduate days in Britain."

"Most of them are good I hope." Ichiro smiled.

Koichi nodded, "Most of them."

Ichiro stepped back and pulled the young blonde boy who was about Koichi's height despite the fact that he looked a few years younger up to the two.

"Kichirou, Koichi, allow me to introduce to you my ni—nephew Haruka Tenoh." When Kichirou raised his eyebrow quizzically, expecting the boy to be Ichiro's son, the older Tenoh felt the need to elaborate. "He's Kenshin's boy."

The younger blonde smiled, though somewhat grudgingly Koichi thought he noticed, before he extended his hand to both his father and himself.

"My nephew is a very gifted pianist." Ichiro went on. At this, Kichirou gave him an odd look, "I know," Ichiro muttered; "He definitely didn't get it from me. There haven't been any musicians in our family for over a hundred years which is why we're all so proud of him."

"Great talent is to be appreciated." Kichirou agreed, giving the young man beside his friend a smile, "Tell me, what do you plan on doing with it?"

Haruka sighed inwardly. She wanted to say, _why nothing professional sir, my real dream is to be a formula one race car driver, I'd rather keep the piano as a hobby, maybe even compose a little here and there, who knows._

But that's not what she said. Instead, she said what her uncle had told her to say.

"I want to study music at a prestigious music school and maybe one day become a famous concert pianist." She said without embellishment or real enthusiasm.

"Hm, you sound like you would get along well with my daughter. She's been playing the violin since she was five years old and she wants to make a lifelong career out of it."

Haruka just smirked, knowing that this man had no idea how well she really got on with most girls or how she would probably be able to play his daughter as easily as she played the piano, but she kept that thought to herself.

But her confidence withered and something in her stomach threatened to come up again as she caught Koichi's gaze.

The younger Kaioh was looking over her as if he had a hard time believing that she was what she was presented to be. Haruka swallowed and gave him a hard stare, getting those blue eyes to back off their scrutiny a bit, but not entirely.

"Well, Haruka, how about this? I'm having a party at my house to celebrate my brother's engagement to his long time partner and we usually hire young musicians we know who are planning on making careers out of their arts. Would you be interested in serenading us all on the piano that evening? You'll be informed well in advance of the date, time of arrival, and state of dress expected of you. I'll even have a car sent to pick you up, all you need do is bring yourself. What do you say?"

All eyes landed on her, and Haruka took a deep breath. She was surprised and nervous. She'd never expected to be given an opportunity to prove herself to a group of wealthy upper crust snobs, but as annoying an experience as it would probably pan out to be, it might get her someplace someday or get her contacts who could help her get where she wanted to be. Why not give it a try?

"I'd be honored, Mr. Kaioh."

"Excellent. And please, call me Kichirou. Mr. Kaioh makes me feel like I've turned into my father."

"We're not too far from that age ourselves." Ichiro smiled playfully. Then he looked at Haruka. "We should be going, it's been a long night and Haruka has school in the morning. It was good to see you old friend."

"You too." Kichirou echoed, "Perhaps, we'll met again sometime."

"Count on it. Nice to have met you, Koichi. Keep your father out of trouble."

"No worries there."

Then the two blondes were gone, having disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Skilled fingers played over cultured satin, their administrations aiming on tempting the soft skin beneath it enough to inspire its owner to come out and play.

A soft gasp was drawn from the older girl as the other placed a wet kiss on a spot just below her ear. At the same time, her heart began to race faster as a hand smoothed a path up her exposed calf and thigh. A few seconds later that hand was then replaced by a pair of equally brazen lips causing a low moan to escape her lips.

The mouth began a hot, wet trail up from the base of her knee across her inner thigh, but stopped just before they reached where she wanted them to be. The redhead let out a frustrated groan as Michiru sat back on her haunches, listening for something.

"What is it?"

It couldn't be…was that the sound of…scales being played?

Damn it!

Michiru stood, muttering a hurried apology as she smoothed over her dress and raced out the door and down the hall.

* * *

"Koichi, have you seen your sister? The orchestra is already beginning to set up, she should be getting ready."

Koichi looked around them, trying to pretend that he hadn't seen his sister leave the ballroom with that petite redhead and sighed in mock exasperation at not being able to find her in the crowd.

"I haven't seen her since we got here, father. She probably went off to powder her nose or something weird like that, that girls do at things like this."

He looked over doing his best impression of a convincing smile, but his father was still staring at him strangely.

"Koichi?"

"Yes, father?"

"Either you need to learn how to put on better masks or to tell better lies because your nose is beginning to grow."

The smile from Koichi's face drooped slightly and he swallowed, semi-praying that his sister would make it back into the ballroom in time to play the piece that was to introduce her and her musical talent to the outside world for the first time.

Koichi's heart did back flips in his throat as the strings and wood winds began already tuning their instruments one last time and practicing their scales. Where in the hell was she?

"Now, son, I am going to ask this one more time because I know you know." Kichirou fixed him with an unsympathetic look, "Where is your sister?"

Koichi swallowed, mentally trying to iron out which would be worse: the boring punishment his father would give him for lying or the likely excruciating things Michiru would do to him once she found out he'd ratted her out.

Kichirou was losing is patience and started his son's confession for him, "Michiru is…"

Koichi's eyes searched around frantically until they settled on the blur blue moving through the crowd at a steady speed. "There!"

"Where?" Kichirou asked confused.

"There!" Koichi pointed behind him.

And he was right.

Michiru complete in her custom white dress with a blue sash across the front was already making her way into the orchestra and making her apologies to the conductor as he handed her, her violin.

From the other side of the room, Natsumi noticed the one woman sprint as well and also noticed that her daughter was…barefoot?

Natsumi sighed.

She didn't want to know. She'd had enough experience with the antics of both of her children that she knew better than to ask at this point and could settle for the obvious facts instead of the actual details. Still, that didn't mean she was going to be lenient, she and her daughter would have words later after everything had settled down.

The conductor tapped his wand against the music stand in front of him to get everyone's attention.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I have someone very special to introduce to you this evening. She's someone I'm sure every one of you has heard of to some degree, but who very seldom makes performances for wider audiences. However, tonight, she had agreed to entertain us all with her skill on the violin. May I introduce to you all, Ms. Michiru Kaioh." People clapped as Michiru bowed slightly to them and the conductor waited until the hype had died down before he continued, "Tonight Ms. Kaioh and the Tokyo Symphonic Orchestra are proud to bring you Arcangelo Corelli's Adagio from Concerto Grosso OP. 6."

Everyone clapped. And the conductor gave the cue as the lower strings began to play.

Then Michiru started and the annoying murmuring noise crowds tend to make when they've been silenced by something, died down.

Delicate fingers brought notes out of the instrument that seemed like they came from thin air. Notes of drawn out longing carried on the backs of the cellos, violas, and bases and their contraposto melody. Swaying every so often to the pull of a particularly strong note, Michiru's hands loved the strings and her body paid enough intimate attention to the language of the music being played as if it were the voice of a lover.

When the tune ended and the orchestra stopped playing, there wasn't an untouched heart in the house.

As the conductor presented her to the crowd, Michiru bowed again, deeper this time. Everyone present cheered and the orchestra tapped their bows on their music stands. She shook the hand of Conductor Masmune and edged back into the crowd. A couple hundred compliments on her fabulous playing and one genuine smile for them all later, Michiru had reached the side of her family again.

Her father compliment died on his lips as her noticed her approach, staring down at her bare feet.

"Where are your…."

But Koichi just shook his head at her. "So much for being subtle…"

* * *

"Life is like music; it must be composed by ear, feeling, and instinct, not by rule."

-Samuel Butler-

(1835 – 1902)

_**Author's note:**_ Thank you everyone for reading! I hope everyone enjoyed it and please leave a review so that I can continue to make this story as good as it can be for you guys!


	3. The Life Jacket that Burst

**Author's Note:**Another heads up before anyone reads this chapter. This story is another companion piece, this time to both _The Die is Cast_ and _Take Me Away_ which is focused upon Haruka and Michiru, though you don't need to have read those pieces to know what is going on in this one as they are all separate from one another. Also, the two poems used in the piece aren't mine either and the credit for them must go to the people who wrote them. The first one is the third part of "Myakovsky" a poem by the 1960s American poet Frank O'Hara. The next one used is entitled "By the Arno" and it was written by the Irish upstart writer and all around genius renaissance man, Oscar Wilde. Now, off with all of you, get busy reading! :]

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sailor Moon or any of its characters (as much as I might like to ;).

* * *

"Your songs remind me of swimming,

Which I forgot when I started to sink

Drank further away from the shore,

And deeper into the drink

Sat on the bottom of the ocean,

A stern and stubborn rock

'Cause your songs remind me of swimming,

But somehow I forgot…"

Florence and the Machine—_Swimming _

_**Chapter Three: The Life Jacket That Burst**_

_Seawater cascaded down the side of the ancient gilded trim of the object as it emerged out of the ocean and into the world. A long white forearm spiraled with green scales down the skin held the thing aloft. Such a creation as the Aqua Mirror had not been seen on land for two millennia. Setsuna bent forward over the rocky coast to examine it, bracing herself upright on one arm and letting the waves come perilously close to licking her off of her feet and down into the depthless oceans of Neptune. From the mists, the rest of the figure emerged, an Oceanid woman, one of the sea people. She lowered her scaled arm so that the mirror now rested face down in both of her webbed hands and undulated her tail lightly, floating over to where Setsuna wavered on the rock edge. _

_The senshi of Pluto narrowed her garnet eyes at the mirror. Tendrils of yellow kelp hung haphazardly from the slightly tarnished golden handle and the uncleaned glass—made obscure by centuries upon centuries spent at the bottom of the sea—looked a little more worse for wear than Setsuna had expected to find one of the most legendary and talked about entities in the whole of the Sol System. _Find the three talismans_, Serenity had said, _Only then can the Outer senshi be complete_. Setsuna leaned even farther forward, getting pelted with the sea spray as the waves continued to rhythmically come in and retreat. She had to be sure before she could continue on her way. _

"_Is it the right one?" Pluto queried, skeptical. _

_The woman's head of wet cobalt curls nodded and she smiled brightly, "A mirror, to see through illusion and cut through time and space."_

_A little more convinced than she had been, Setsuna reached out her hand and grabbed the mirror's edge. Once it was firmly in her grasp, the mermaid disappeared again beneath the waves and the senshi of Pluto was left alone with nothing but the roar of the waves and herself for company. _

Michiru shot up in her bed like one of those blow up clowns that always bounces back again after being smacked down, a question dying on her lips and sweat making her pajamas and the sheets stick to her skin uncomfortably.

A slight knock came at her bedroom door followed by her brother's voice.

"Michiru, please tell me I'm not about to walk in on something I really don't want to see."

She smiled despite the frazzled state of mind she was in. Leave it to Koichi to interpret the end of a nightmare as one of her other nightly activities and still be prepared to walk in anyway.

"It's safe, Koichi, you can come in." She said, leaning back into her array of fluffy pillows.

Koichi's blue haired head—just a shade darker than his sister's—emerged through the crack in the door. He quickly took in his surroundings, determined that he couldn't see a damn thing and clapped his hands to turn on the lights. Michiru immediately winced and closed her eyes as brightness filled her room. Koichi flopped down, stomach-first onto her bed and crawled up beside her. Playfully, he reached over and tousled her already sleep-muddled locks. Michiru made a soft disgruntled sound at him, but made no move to punish him for it. They laid there in complete quiet except for the hum of the lights above them for a couple minutes. Then Koichi decided to breech their silence.

"So, what were you dreaming about? A girl, no doubt?" Koichi stretched and folded his arms comfortably behind his head, "Judging from the sounds you were making, I judge she was very good at what she did."

Michiru's cheeks had the uncharacteristic decency to pinken at this and she opened her eyes a sliver to glare at him through her lashes, "Koichi, while it works out well most of the time that we are both attracted to the same types of girls, I would appreciate it if you didn't bring your fantasies into my bed and kept them to yourself because I don't want to know about them."

"Awwww, Michiru, come on, don't be a prude. That's not like you." Koichi teased.

"I'm not being a prude. It's—" Michiru craned her neck around to the bedside table and read the creepy little red numbers displayed on the clock there: 4:30 A.M. Feeling herself growing even more exhausted and resentful, Michiru rolled back over to face her brother, "It's 4:30 in the morning and I've never been quiet, Koichi, so you generally know better than to visit me in the middle of the night when I'm with someone. So, why are you here?"

Koichi faltered for words for a moment. He didn't actually have a reason. He'd just been sneaking in through the window down the hall and was on his way to his room when he heard sounds coming from Michiru's bedroom. This in and of itself wasn't extraordinary, but he didn't remember seeing her with any girls in the house before he left a couple of hours ago and if she'd been with them earlier, he'd have certainly met them. For his own benefit, if for anything else. After all, his sister had great taste and most of the girls she either took as girlfriends or brought home for "sleep overs" were usually drop dead gorgeous with good bodies. He might not be what his sister's love interests were attracted to, but he sure as hell wasn't going to pretend he was blind because of it. Anyway, he knew Michiru used to have nightmares when she was younger so Koichi had decided he'd check on her briefly on his way to his room. Of course though, he couldn't tell her that. It would ruin his image.

Mentally scrambling around in his head, Koichi finally came up with a suitable excuse, "I just wanted to remind you that mother expects you to be home early tonight because she wants to show us off to some of her friends at tea this afternoon."

Michiru eyed him with something akin to as horrified a look she could muster at that hour, "You come to tell me this at 4:30 in the morning?"

Koichi turned to her, "I'm just looking out for your wellbeing, Michiru. I mean, you know how I am at breakfast all bleary eyed. I don't remember to do anything. So I would have forgot to tell you about this, we would have gone to school, and then I would have been in the shithouse as soon as I got home because I didn't tell you to get out of swim practice early like mom told me to. Now do you see why I had to do it this way?"

Michiru stared at him seriously for a moment, then, "Get out of my bed, Koichi. Now."

Koichi threw his arms up into the air in exasperation and all the way to the door, he contented himself with mutterings of 'all he does' and 'ungrateful little sisters'. As the bedroom door closed behind him, Michiru clapped her hands and total, life-saving darkness engulfed the room again.

* * *

Her mother was pacing again. Haruka could hear her, the abused floor boards of their bungalow complaining loudly from their mother's room on the other side of the hall.

"Do you think her feet ever get sore?" The voice from the opposite corner of their dark room asked.

Haruka crinkled her forehead in confusion, "What kind of question is that? And why do you care?"

Her younger, half-sister Harumi lay tucked into the bed across from her, absently staring up at the ceiling as they both listened to the floor groan beneath one of their mother's nightly marches. Haruka rolled her shoulders in the dark and kicked the sheet off of her. She never slept with blankets on for long. They always made her too warm too quick.

"Haruka?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want to be a boy?"

Haruka's handsome features screwed up in disgust, "No. Why would you think I'd want to be?"

"Well, half the girls in my year are already in love with you, you wear a boy's school uniform and boy's clothes and you participate in mostly male sports. Plus mom says all the time that she doesn't know what to do with you and 'why can't Haruka be a normal girl'. I'm also pretty sure that whenever we're with him, Uncle Ichirou refers to you as his nephew. It all makes for a convincing case."

There was a long silence for a moment, then Haruka's husky voice broke through the darkness, "I don't want to be a boy. I want to be just like I am—just as I've always been—if that makes any sense."

Harumi sighed loudly, "Not at all, but go on."

How could Haruka explain what had always come naturally to her—what just was…her. There was no other way to put it. No easy way to explain it or one single string of words that would make it easier for others to understand.

"I just—I don't like dresses, I like to wear boys' clothes, they're comfortable and they look good on me. I don't like make-up. I like my hair short and I like to play sports and do anything that will get me moving as fast as it is humanly possible for me to move. That's how I want to be—how I am." Haruka took a deep steadying breath and then continued, "Do you understand?"

There was a pregnant pause that lay between them, refusing to move along or to be broken as Harumi churned her sister's words over and over in her mind and Haruka tried to keep the anxiety of waiting from consuming her.

Then, "So…you want to be a cross dresser?" Harumi suggested, confusion clear in her voice.

"Yes, I mean no," Haruka huffed in frustration. _Why couldn't Harumi just understand what she was trying to tell her? _

How else could she explain it to her sister? It just felt…right, dressing and behaving like she did. Dressing in boys clothes had always made her feel more like herself than stuffing herself into the pink, frilly lace concoctions her mother had always tried to take her out into public in when she was little. At first, Haruka thought it was just those dresses that were to blame, but as she grew older she became acutely aware of how she differed from other members of her sex. She didn't like to wear make-up and she hadn't looked forward to the first time her mom had to take her shopping for a bra. She liked hanging out and rough housing with boys, but found that she didn't feel anything for them other than friendly amicability and she had no desire to get into their pants, sexually at least. If anything, she had always been partial to the fairer of the two sexes, to other girls who wore make-up and the dresses Haruka wouldn't be caught dead in, in a million years. Girls who were girls. Why was that so wrong?

She may have been different and her mother and uncle might not like it, but all and all, Haruka was pretty content with who she was, how she was. She saw no need for change.

Putting an end to their conversation, Haruka beat her pillow with her fist a couple of times and rolled over onto it.

"Good night, Hime-chan." She said.

"Good night, Haruka."

The darkness between them was stretched with a peaceful silence. This lasted all of ten seconds…

"Haruka?"

The older blonde barked, tiredly, "No, Harumi, just go to sleep."

"But Haruka—"

Haruka gave up, she truly did. She was tired, and frustrated, and sin of sins; she was mere moments and inches from crossing the room, making sure her younger half sister stayed quiet for good.

"What?" The older of the two finally conceded.

Harumi's soft voice filled the space between them, "I just wanted to say that, even though you dress like a boy and act like one, I still love you and I'm pretty sure that mom still does too."

Haruka's eyes shot open and her chest grew tight, making it hard to breathe steadily, "You do?"

"Yeah, don't go around telling anybody, though, or I might just have to kick your ass to maintain my tough reputation."

Haruka chuckled and rolled her eyes. Her sister was a voluntary cheerleader at most of the team sports their school hosted, she wore short skirts, owned no flat shoes, and couldn't hit the broad side of Toyko Bridge with a volleyball. Oh yeah, some tough image she had…but Haruka appreciated the humor all the same.

"Thanks, Harumi. Now go to sleep." Haruka ordered.

"Love you too." Harumi whispered from the other side of the room.

And this time the silence between them remained for the rest of the night as both girls lapsed into a restful sleep.

Morning came too quickly as it always did. Haruka opened her eyes to the unwelcome aplomb of morning sunlight cutting through the bamboo blinds on their windows. She pulled her navy blue sheets over her head and groaned. A similar sort of whimper issued from across the room where Harumi's alarm clock had just started beeping. There was a resounding crash as the already dented thing was thrown into the large bookshelf that separated both halves of their bedroom, lodging in between a dog-eared Ducati motorcycle catalogue and six well-thumbed volumes of _The Prince of Tennis. _Neither girl cared where the horrid little clock landed, however, just so long as it was dead.

It looked like they were going to succeed in completely ignoring the coming day when their door flew open. Without a knock to announce herself, their mother's head and shoulders slipped into the room.

"Girls, wake up, it's time to get ready for school."

Haruka reflexively pulled the sheet tighter over her head and Harumi rolled over, snuggling deeper into her lavender pillow.

"Girls!" Their mother said, this time louder, "You have precisely ten seconds to get your butts out of bed before I come and get them out of bed for you."

Haruka groaned again and the sheet slipped down to her shoulders, exposing her head, arms, and T-shirted chest to the morning. Giving herself a few fleeting moments to be comfortable, Haruka rose under her mother's glare, marching over to their dresser and pulling out some clean clothes. Harumi, though, still didn't budge.

"Harumi." Their mother called, moving into the room so Haruka could sway past her and out into the hall.

The older girl meandered down the corridor, using her arm to brace herself against the wall as she moved unsteadily towards the bathroom. Just before she shut the bathroom door behind her, Haruka heard the crash of a body meeting the floor and raised voices and knew that her mother had indeed, dragged Harumi's lazy butt out of bed just as she'd threatened. Grimacing at the thought, the blonde disrobed, pulling her white T-shirt over her head and removing her boxer shorts in favor of the promising warmth of a short shower.

* * *

Michiru opened her eyes to light dancing across her cream colored ceiling as the sunlight from outside was obstructed at certain intervals by the general goings on of life in the waking city. She took a deep breath and stretched her limbs at odd angles, holding the contortionist's pose as long as possible as the blood flow increased and her arms and legs began to wake up. Slowly, but surely wakefulness came to the rest of her as well and she finally convinced herself that sashimi for breakfast was more rewarding than laying in bed hungry.

Her feet padded across the blue shag carpet of her bedroom, Michiru's toes wriggling in its plush softness as she idled by her closet deciding which uniform (even though they were all identical) she should wear that day. Finally, decision made, she grabbed clean underthings and scampered into her bathroom. Twenty minutes later, she emerged naked except for a steaming towel wrapped around her damp aqua locks as she applied aspects of her daily routine to her face. Cleanser first, then a pomegranate exfoliating mixture, then moisturizer, then make-up and all other final touches were added. Teeth were brushed, eyebrows plucked, legs shaved, hair dried, clothes on, and she was ready to greet the morning.

Downstairs, her father was already sitting at the table in one of their more intimate dining rooms, reading the finance section of the newspaper over his usual cup of steaming green tea.

"Morning, Father." She said, bending down to kiss his check.

"Morning, Michiru." Kichirou replied, "Your mother barely beat you out of bed this morning."

"But I beat Koichi." Michiru commented, sitting down at her normal place as a cup of green tea was set in front of her by one of their maids.

"You did beat Koichi." Her father agreed, flipping a page of his paper.

Michiru sipped her tea quietly as her father digested the morning news, humming every so often when his blue eyes intercepted a paragraph that interested him. A plate of sashimi a bowl of rice were set down in front of both of them. Michiru delicately finished her tea before moving onto her breakfast. The blue haired girl chewed a bite of seaweed wrapped eel, swallowed, and dabbed her lips with the edge of her napkin.

"Where's mother?" She asked.

Kichirou finally relinquished his paper in favor of his hunger. He tossed it on the uninhabited side of the table and lifted his chopsticks.

"She said she needed to find the perfect spot for a painting she wanted to start this morning. That the muses called to her…" Kichirou said, stuffing a piece of tuna in his mouth. "She's down in the garden somewhere, I think."

Michiru smiled in amusement, "At this hour?"

Kichirou shrugged, swallowing, "You know how your mother can be when she gets an idea into her head, there's just no talking her out of it."

Koichi chose that moment to stagger into the dining room, still clad in a pair of burgundy pajamas, hair all akimbo.

"Ugh…who turned on the sun…" He groaned, plopping down in the chair beside Michiru.

"You're up fifteen minutes earlier than yesterday. Slowly, but surely, you'll reach the status of morning person yet if I have anything to say about it, Koichi." Their father announced pushing his empty plate away from him and repossessing his newspaper.

"Did I mention father that you are a cruel and pitiless example of a parent?" Koichi quipped as a plate of soba noodles was placed in front of him in light of the fact that he actually wouldn't eat anything with fish in it.

"You keep thinking that, son." Kichirou replied, unaffected, "Might I remind you that Christmas isn't that far off."

"Ho, ho, ho capitalism, neo-fetishes, and shiny gadgets. I'd rather be thrown into Tokyo Bay tied to a steaming bucket of shark bait," Koichi grumped, pulling a long string of noodles into his mouth.

Michiru rolled her eyes at her brother's antics as she finished the last of her fish and moved to her morning bowl of rice.

"That could probably be arranged. I know a man on the conservation board who would be happy to give me the logistics of shark hunting grounds near and around the bay," Kichirou dead-panned, a smile in his voice though his face remained hidden behind the shield of his paper.

Koichi suddenly choked on the noodles he was munching and Michiru patted him on the back, giggling loudly as he hacked himself into a fitful frenzy.

After his recovery, Koichi left the table and the rest of his unfinished breakfast to get ready for school. Once he was firmly dressed in his black jumpsuit with the high collar and gold buttons, he and Michiru were ushered into one of their father's many vehicles and driven to the prestigious Okada Academy for Esteemed Young People. Just the name spoke volumes about the place and the type of people it catered to.

Opulent, influential, gorgeous, Tokyo families with old names and young children they pressured to be the perfect embodiment of what that family name represented. Michiru knew all too well what being such a child felt like. Her mother's maiden name was Aino—a distant branch of the famous Aino family of Kyoto—and Natsumi Kaioh was every bit the well-mannered, eloquent heiress her surname implied she should be. Michiru had grown up with her as an example of what it meant to be a woman in her family whether or not her parents openly drove home the point, it didn't matter, because other people would expect Michiru to be the same way regardless. Talent, good breeding, class. It wasn't that Michiru didn't have these qualities, she did. She just didn't appreciate the expectations that always went along with them, which seemed to be held by outside society.

Michiru sighed as the car came to a stop along the sidewalk guarding the entrance gate and the steps leading up to the school's main campus. Somehow she always wished the drive to school was longer so she wouldn't have to arrive so soon to the hollow greetings of starry eyed middle schoolers and cocky upperclassmen trying to get on her good side because of her parents' connections. Michiru and Koichi got out of the back of the town car and blended in with the throngs of dark uniformed students meandering up the steps towards Okada Academy.

On the way, Koichi slung his briefcase over his shoulder as the attention of the groups of kids who had stopped to talk on the fringes of the stairs abruptly shifted to him and his sister. Michiru handled it beautifully, as always, hiding the true displeasure he knew she was feeling behind a graceful smile and considerate words. However, Koichi knew a frantic part of her free spirited self was running around throwing things and shaking its fist at the world in furious agitation beyond the calm veneer everyone else was permitted to see. That was what was so great about his kid sister, she had so much more going on under the surface of her practiced exterior than any other living person, including himself, would ever be able understand in a lifetime.

And what's more, she didn't try to keep up the image of the cool enigmatic person who bragged to anyone who'd listen that they were the most gifted or attractive person in the universe. In fact, the sheer fact that Michiru refused to show anything of what was going on inside of her head or her heart was part of the reason why she was so popular, because she really was a mystery to unravel, a perfect mystery that seemed to have no beginning and no end, just simply was. What would it be like, he wondered, if someone were to unravel that mystery? Would his sister rebel and distance herself from the unfortunate individual? Or would she allow herself to, for once, be genuinely herself in front of another person who wasn't a member of their little family unit? Ah, well, he shrugged No use wondering which way the ball is going to roll before it's even touched the ground yet.

Koichi waved as an attractive group of eight grade girls tried to get his attention before anyone else could snatch it up. And of course, being the older brother of the most attractive ninth grader at Okada Academy did have its perks.

* * *

Haruka looked down into her plate of cold fried rice and grimaced. Breakfast was always the worst meal of the day in her household because her mother was usually too busy getting ready to rush off to her job to fix them anything decent. What usually happened was they were left to fend for themselves on the leftovers from the previous evening's takeaways. Right now, Haruka was staring down into the leftovers from yesterday's trip to the Dragon Throne Restaurant and truth be told, they looked more than a little less appetizing than they had last night when their mother had sent Haruka out on her bike to fetch them.

The tall blonde shifted her gaze to the person across from her. Harumi was sitting in almost a mirror position of her sister, the only difference being her chin resting on one hand as her other pushed scallions and pieces of chicken around on her plate with one plastic chopstick.

They sat there for five minutes more, then unceremoniously, Harumi sighed loudly and dropped the chopstick on the table.

"This sucks," she said with her usual bluntness. "This really sucks."

Haruka sighed as well and pushed her plate away from her. She was never a person for words over actions. With a minimum of effort, she stood, pulled her layered motorcycle jacket off the back of the chair and threw it on over her school jumpsuit.

"Come on." She called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "or I'm leaving you."

"But it's still early," Harumi reminded her, running over to the kitchen counter where she'd set her school bag.

"I know. We'll stop by a café and get something. I'm pretty sure I still have at least that much of my allowance money left."

Before she knew it, Haruka was out the door, walking down the stairs of their bungalow to the street.

"Hey! Don't you dare leave me here, Haruka, because if you do I promise to make your life miserable, so help me!" And with that, Harumi sprinted to catch up to her taller sibling.

They'd stopped at a small European café in Azabu and got a couple of biscotti for the road. It only took a few minutes to navigate through traffic, Haruka making a few illegal turns and risky weaves in between cars that got her infuriated honks from the drivers she dove in front of and caused Harumi to cling to her back like a firefighter to a ladder. Within a few minutes though, they had pulled to a stop in front of the European decorated and overly praised Okada Academy for Esteemed Young People. The school—like everything in Haruka's life—hadn't been her choice. Apparently, it was a long standing family tradition. Her Uncle Ichirou, her father, and one filthy rich great-grandfather had attended the same school eons before Haruka had come into the world and now she was paying for it. It was where most of her uncle's meager funding of their family went to, wanting to make sure that his nieces—or at least Haruka and Harumi by association, even though she technically wasn't a Tenoh at all—got an education befitting their legendary surname.

Once they were safely parked, Harumi eased off of the bike enough for Haruka to tilt it and put down the kickstand. Then she untied her helmet and slipped it off as Haruka mirrored her actions.

"Thank you for breakfast and the ride. I know I threatened you with eternal misery and all, but I really do appreciate the things you do for me," Harumi said smiling, handing the helmet back to Haruka when she was ready.

"No problem, Hime-chan." Haruka returned calmly, getting off of the bike and popping the seat to reveal a storage area where both of their helmets and her jacket would go during school.

"I love you too," Harumi squealed, briefly throwing her arms around her wide eyed sister. Then she caught sight of a few members of her seventh grade posse crossing the lawn toward the steps and sprinted after them, "Later!" she threw over her shoulder.

Haruka snorted and shed her jacket, stuffing it into the small storage area and locking it away. Then unconsciously, she stiffened. There it was that prickly feeling again on the back of her neck—like she was being watched by something or someone. Like she was missing something that was right in front of her eyes, something she should be seeing. Haruka shook her head. What was it with her lately? She was having trouble concentrating on simple tasks. She was always feeling more restless than usual and the dreams she had been having at night were becoming more fragmented, making less sense than dreams normally did. For whatever reason it all was happening, Haruka was sure, it wasn't good.

Suddenly, the prickly feeling grew with a vengeance and she instinctually turned her head to the side, immediately locking eyes with the person who'd been watching her. High upon the steps stood a girl. She was uncommonly beautiful in a way that caught people's attention right away and could be appreciated from a distance as well as close up. Her skin was pale and seemed to glow in the sunlight as much as her unusually colored aqua hair gleamed. There was also an underlying deepness and unruliness in her dark blue eyes that belittled the unexplored mysteries of mountain lakes and underwater ocean trenches and it seemed to Haruka, that they were calling to her somehow. The girl smiled over her shoulder at the tall blonde—a genuine expression that might lend itself to more should Haruka allow it to, but the blonde's cheeks immediately colored and broke their shared gaze. Almost immediately, a hollow sort of pain started up in her chest and Haruka felt like she'd lost something vital.

When she looked up again, the aqua haired beauty was gone. Haruka rubbed at her forehead and pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The feeling of loss inside of her growing into a nagging emptiness that she couldn't seem to get rid of. What was she doing? She was Haruka Tenoh. Girls, both her own age and younger than herself, fawned over her legendary charm and roguishly good looks more than they did over most boys. It had never been the other way around and because of that she'd been safe. Haruka had never given her heart to anyone and had never desired to do so past the occasional one night stand, behind building make out sessions, or locker room dalliances, but this new girl…it was almost like she'd stared straight through into her soul, as if for one moment in time, they were one person, not two and Haruka yearned to get back to that feeling of wholeness.

Taking a few more deep breaths, Haruka Tenoh cracked her neck from side to side and started up the stairs at a calm pace as the first warning bell sounded and the majority of the black clad bodies milling about began the long journey up the steps.

* * *

Koichi and Michiru separated inside the main building for grades nine through twelve, each migrating with their own respective classes to their first periods. Koichi started in maths class and then moved on to his advanced art vocational courses in the separate college building located a little further down on the hill, while Michiru and her section of ninth graders advanced to Modern Western Literature. By the third and last warning bell, Michiru and the majority of her class were situated into the large room they took their first lessons in. Most of the students were sitting on their desks conversing animatedly with the people around them, but this wasn't something Michiru usually took part in, though people often tried their best to gather her into a conversation, she could always politely refuse. Though there was a limit to how many times she could do that as well, she sighed.

Currently, she bent over in her chair, pulling their poetry book out of her school bag along with her notebook for the class and a pencil. Then she flipped the poetry book open to a page she'd creased over so she could find it again and began quietly to read:

_3_

_That's funny! there's blood on my chest_

_oh yes, I've been carrying bricks _

_what a funny place to rupture!_

_and now it is raining on the ailanthus_

_as I step out onto the window ledge_

_the tracks below me are smoky and _

_glistening with a passion for running_

_I leap into the leaves, green like the sea…_

Michiru stopped reading for a moment. That would be an interesting image to put into watercolors, but what shades would she use? Better yet, some of the words and expressions seemed to have colors of their own, each and every word eliciting a color behind her eyes that could belong only to that particular term, but how to express what was only natural to her on a canvas? Bah, it was no use, she just couldn't think straight this morning…

"Hey, Michiru-san, what do you think about Sakura-san's hair, isn't it cute?"

Michiru blinked for a second, her thoughts refocusing on the girl leaning over her desk beside her, "I'm sorry?"

The brunette known as Akina Saito, leaned closer towards Michiru and raised one hand, shielding her mouth conspiratorially as she whispered loudly, "She got a haircut yesterday, isn't it cute?"

The blonde girl in question, Sakura Fujita who was standing in the row between them, twirled and flipped her shoulder length hair behind her with a tiny smile. Michiru smirked despite herself, for all of their annoying meddling into her mental musings, the few girls who always sat around her in every period did have a certain kindness and innocence to them that Michiru admired.

The bluenette leaned her chin gracefully on her hand and raked her eyes over the slight blonde's body appraisingly, "You look ravishing, Sakura-san, even more so than usual. Kenzi-san is the luckiest boy in this school, I'd say."

Saukra blushed prettily, nodded her head politely, the corners of her mouth raising up into a pleased smile she couldn't stop, "He is, thank you, Kaioh-san."

Michiru giggled at the girl's reaction as Akina sat back comfortably in her seat and closed her eyes, "If Michiru-san says it, then it must be true." She said, with an excitable finality.

"What are you saying Akina-san, you couldn't spot the truth if it bit you in the nose!" Emi Matsuda said, with a winning grin. She always sat in the chair directly in front of Michiru and was Akina's best friend. The two took the utmost pleasure in torturing one another, which could be amusing at times.

As Akina took the bait and the two began to argue as if the future of Tokyo rested upon the outcome, Michiru went back to her musings. Why couldn't she focus? Something was off, she could sense it. The dream she'd had last night had been the latest in a series of odd fantasies she'd been having for the past two weeks. With each one she had, they grew more intense and vivid. People, places, things flitting around in her head that spoke of a certain familiarity she was sure didn't exist. The places felt real. Last night, she had felt the spray of the sea mist against her skin, had smelt the salt in the air, had felt the sharp slipperiness of the gray-green ocean rocks as she knelt beside the familiar green haired woman and leaned over the ledge to reach out for the handle of the mirror she was sure belonged to her. No, she _knew_ belonged to her.

Then that morning after they'd arrived at school, there had been the girl…or at least Michiru was fairly certain she had been a girl. Yes, it had to have been. The feminine yet strong sloping of the jawline and the slight rise over the chest beneath the boy's black jumpsuit. The short blonde hair Michiru was sure was soft as goose's down feathers and moved just so at the base of the neck with the breeze as if it was a part of the breath of air streaming through it. The teal-green eyes she'd felt herself falling into, like she'd been diving into untamed waters that were sure to catch her and keep her safe on the gentlest of currents. She'd felt it, from all the way at the top of the hill, Michiru had felt herself falling through the air at peace and free, so free she felt like cheering. Then she'd smiled, feeling the most tranquil and unrestricted Michiru could remember feeling in the last ten years and that was it. The girl had turned away from her and severed the tie they'd shared. It had felt like a personal repudiation and for no reason that the aqua haired beauty could understand, she felt hurt by it.

Their teacher chose then to walk into the classroom and set his briefcase on the desk. The gaggles of voices quieted and the students who had yet to take to their chairs took their seats.

Mr. Miura loosened his tie and shrugged off his suit jacket, resettling the thin wire glasses on his long face and leaned back against his desk, eying his students.

"Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Miura-sensei," the class echoed.

"Slightly warm outside, ne?" He asked the class as a way of making the students feel comfortable, "I think now I can sympathize with the soft boiled eggs my wife fixes for breakfast."

Some heads nodded, some giggled, some rolled their eyes. Others didn't respond at all. Michiru straightened her posture, crossing her ankles under her chair and folding her hands on her desk. Mr. Miura pulled their poetry book from his briefcase and straightened his glasses.

"Let's get a head start today. Turn to page 52 of your poetry, books please."

The rustle of pages and whispered curses from those who found out they'd actually misplaced the small book or left it in their lockers circulated through the room.

"Who would like to read for us? Ah, Ms. Fujito, thank you. Top of page 52 if you please."

The slight blonde cleared her throat and began to read the words in front of her for all to hear:

"The oleander on the wall

Grows crimson in the dawning light,

Though the grey shadows of the night

Lie yet on Florence like a pall.

The dew is bright upon the hill,

And bright the blossoms overhead,

But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,

The little Attic song is still.

Only the leaves are gently stirred

By the soft breathing of the gale,

And in the almond-scented vale

The lonely nightingale is heard.

The day will make thee silent soon,

O nightingale sing on for love!

While yet upon the shadowy grove

Splinter the arrows of the moon.

Before across the silent lawn

In sea-green vest the morning steals,

And to love's frightened eyes reveals

The long white fingers of the dawn.

Fast climbing up the eastern sky

To grasp and slay the shuddering night,

All careless of my heart's delight,

Or if the nightingale should die."

She finished and looked around her. Across from her Akina pointed to her mouth and made a gagging sound and Emi gave the shy blonde the V for victory. Mr. Miura continued to study the text silently while rubbing at the marks his glasses made on his nose. Finally, he stopped and sat on his desk.

"So, what is this poem saying do you think? Anybody have a theory?"

One of the more academically outspoken boys in the class, Eiji, raised his hand. Mr. Miura called on him and Eiji spoke up, "It's about love, sir."

"Yes, and?" the teacher prodded.

"Well, it talks about "love's frightened eyes" when the dawn is coming almost as if love is an illusion shattered by the ending of the night and the coming of the day, like it was all a dream."

"Very Good." Mr. Miura praised, one finger absently tapping the page, "What else?"

Akina raised her hand this time.

"Yes, Ms. Saito, what do you think?"

"I have a question," Akina asked, slouching back in her chair. "Wasn't Oscar Wilde gay?"

Mr. Miura shook his head, "He did have relationships with men throughout his life, but he was also married to a woman for at least twenty years of the same life. He was bisexual."

A few whispers went through the classroom at this, but Mr. Miura ignored them, "Is that the only reason you raised your hand, Ms. Saito, because that much is in the short biography of the poet on page 51. Surely if you read it, such information wouldn't come as a surprise."

A few people giggled, but Akina held her ground even as her cheeks colored, "I skipped over the biography, but the reason I was asking was because perhaps the poem is about love, but it might be about the love that he himself doesn't have in his life."

Mr. Miura tapped his chin, "Interesting. Go on?"

"No really, that was all I had to say," Akina waved him off.

"Does anyone want to elaborate on what either Ms. Saito or Mr. Yakamora have said?"

Michiru raised her hand.

"Yes, Ms. Kaioh?"

"Love seems to be at the heart of the poem, yes, but the speaker of the poem talks about the idea of love as if it is only that and not a reality him at least." Michiru said, eyes scanning over the poem again, "He's in Florence one of the most romantic cities in all the world and yet doesn't mention that he is in love with anyone or anything. By describing the beauty of the day juxtaposed with the fleeing of dusk, it seems that he might be saying that true love—if it is nothing more than a dream—isn't for him."

She put her book down and closed it. The class was so quiet you could hear sparrow break wind outside. Mr. Miura nodded his head approvingly.

"You're right, Ms. Kaioh, through this poem does seem to be about great emotion, very little of that emotion is mentioned in relation to the speaker. Very good, keep it up. Anyone else, ideas?"

* * *

"Tenoh! Is there something you find interesting about Ms. Sakamoto or can we continue with our history lesson in peace?"

She always seemed to infuriate Ito-sensei in morning history class without fail.

Haruka smiled devilishly, leaning her arm over her chair and stretching her legs out in front of her, "No, sensei, everything is picture perfect."

The sixty something year old man muttered something unintelligible and went back to his chalkboard. Haruka smirked, and turned back to the previous object of her attentions. The dark haired girl was beautiful and she knew it. She enjoyed flirting as much as Haruka did and seemed to be waiting for the other girl to make a move on her, but Haruka was hesitant because Akemi Sakamoto had dated two of the girls she'd had previous "encounters" with and neither one of them had had good things to say about her. Apparently, Sakamoto's father was a minor politician campaigning for senator this year and she had a higher opinion of herself than was healthy because of it. She was also reportedly clingy, jealous, crazy ex-girlfriend material and Haruka had enough craziness in her life already without factoring Akemi into it. The blonde looked into Akemi's eyes—light blue that seemed to go on forever, but not deep enough…

Haruka looked away and tried to clear her mind. Thoughts like that one had been creeping into her head since arriving at school this morning. Those eyes, those wild blue eyes staring into hers—they'd broken her. There was no turning back, the owner of those eyes was all she could think about and it was making Haruka angry. This wasn't like her. She wasn't someone who got attached and certainly not someone who fell in love or got obsessed with hot girls. She had sex with them, made them come, gave them an experience they would never forget, but she didn't those experiences with others control her. She moved on. However, this aqua haired girl…Haruka didn't feel that way about her. She wanted to possess her, not just for a moment in a day, but…for longer than that. How long she didn't know, but as long as possible was good enough to start with. Just being close to her at the moment seemed like it would be enough and feeling that wonderful feeling of completeness again. Tenoh Haruka had never been someone who did relationships, but for the aqua haired girl, Haruka felt like she could be.

Haruka sighed, turning towards the large window that covered most of the wall of her classroom. Perhaps she could find some way to see the aqua haired girl again. They looked to be about the same age, just in different classes of their grade. It couldn't be that hard to find her, could it?

Haruka and Harumi arrived home around seven pm. After school had ended, Haruka had had track practice, but on her way to the track yard, she'd looked around her, searching the faces of milling kids for the one face she wanted to see.

However, Haruka hadn't seen her aqua beauty and that empty feeling in her chest had grown from a sliver into a numbness that seemed to infect her insides like a crippling desease.

The sisters wandered into the dark kitchen, Harumi groping for the lights as Haruka locked the door and removed her shoes. The light switch clicked on and both girls were surprised to see their mother sitting at their small dining table, an empty glass in her hand and one dry lipped sake bottle laying belly up beside her.

"Mom?" Haruka ventured, uncertainly.

In all their years on this earth, neither one of Moriko's daughters had ever seen their mother with so much as a glass of wine in her hand let alone disheveled and obviously one sheet short of three sheets to the wind.

Moriko Tenoh looked up at her girls and opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, her face broke and tears that she'd kept welled up for so long fell freely down her face. Haruka's eyes widened and she took a step back towards the door. Never had she seen her mother like this and she didn't know what to do. Harumi reacted in much the same way at first, then she moved forward. The younger blonde noticed the yellow slip of paper on the table and her face paled. Harumi immediately covered her mouth with her hand as Haruka took in what she'd just noticed.

"They fired me." Moriko said shakily, her whole body shuddering as emotion flowed through her anew, "We can't pay the rent on this place anymore..w-what are we going to do now?"

Haruka clenched her fist at her side. What could they do? What could _she_ do? The older blonde leaned back against the closed door, unclenching her hand and running it through her unruly cowlicks. Never had Haruka felt so utterly helpless.

Moriko couldn't stand to look at the shaken faces of her girls and see the expectant fear in their eyes. Instead, she dropped her head ontop of her folded arms and sobbed. Harumi moved to comfort her, but Moriko shrugged her off. Left to herself, Harumi's eyes began to well up with tears. Haruka turned around and braced her arms against the door, trying to think of anything, something to get them out of this mess. But nothing came.

It was already the end of september and they were half a week away from a substancial rent payment. Moriko was a smart woman. She had investments, but most of them were untouchable until she came of a certain age. When she was young, Moriko would have turned to her parents for financial aid, but her father had passed away the year Harumi was born and since then her mother had been left with just enough money to keep her comfortably for the rest of her days. Moriko wouldn't be the one to take that small comfort from her.

With the possibility of evicition hanging over their heads, only one option was open to them. They were going to have to call in their unenthusiastic uncle for another loan.

* * *

P.S.- Leave me a review if you want me to continue with this! Thanks!


	4. When I Hit the Ground

_**Another heads up before anyone reads this chapter. This story is another companion piece, this time to both **__**The Die is Cast**__** and **__**Take Me Away**__** which is focused upon Haruka and Michiru, though you don't need to have read those pieces to know what is going on in this one as they are all separate from one another. Alright, on to the dessert! :]**_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sailor Moon or any of its characters (as much as I might like to ;).

"I've fallen out of favor

And I've fallen from grace

Fallen out of trees

And I've fallen on my face

Fallen out of taxis

Out of windows too

Fell in your opinion

When I fell in love with you.

Sometimes I wish for falling

Wish for the release

Wish for falling through the air

To give me some relief

Because falling's not the problem

When I'm falling I'm in peace

It's only when I hit the ground

It causes all the grief…"

Florence and the Machine—_Falling_

_**Chapter Four: When I Hit the Ground**_

He'd come over for tea on one of his usual monthly visits and when his former sister-in-law tearfully told him that she had lost her sole means of financially supporting herself, Ichiro Tenoh became very quiet. He was a practical and benevolent man, but even his benevolence had its limits. He just had to define what they were with his family and how far they he could stretch them for their sakes.

Haruka watched him from a distance, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Her uncle did a lot for them already, she knew, but he was always holding it over their heads as if it was somehow their fault that her father had decided to up and abandon them like the cowardly son of a bitch that he was. As if it was her mother's fault that she hadn't wanted to be left alone and had fallen in love a second time, only to have that man leave as well, this time with another child to take care of. I that was what love was then, love was a cheat and if love was a cheat, then Haruka wanted nothing to do with it.

Haruka watched as her uncle tapped the coffee table separating him and her mother with one of his long, bony fingers to emphasize the poignancy of his words. And now the blonde was sure her uncle was also going to find some way to blame their mother because her boss decided to replace her with someone half her age and twice her bra size and a university degree. Haruka took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. She hated people sometimes. She really did.

"You've certainly gotten yourself into a spot this time, Moriko." Ichiro commented as she dried her eyes while he leaned back then sipped at his tea. He swallowed and nodded his head in approval, "Excellent tea this."

"Thank you," She said. When she spoke her voice was shaky, but she tried to hide this by making it lower and giving the illusion that she was stronger than she was.

"Well, I can't make any promises," the elder Tenoh announced looking down at his wristwatch, "but let me make some calls and see what I can do. I might be able to find you something before the end of the month."

"A job?" Moriko sniffled.

"Yes." Ichiro replied curtly, rising from the sofa and buttoning his suit coat, "I'll call on you Friday afternoon if I've found anything."

"Thank you, Ichiro-san." Moriko said, cracking a rare ghost of a smile.

He bowed, slipped on his shoes, and let himself out. Moriko took a few more moments to compose herself and then retrieved the tray of empty teacups sitting on the coffee table. Haruka watched her as she rose and moved past the blonde to get to the sink.

"Do you think he'll find anything?" Haruka asked, turning towards her mother and resting her elbows on the counter.

Moriko didn't turn around, but responded with emotion still in her voice, "I'm sure he will. Your uncle's a very resourceful man."

For some reason, Haruka felt guilty. Like she'd failed a test she hadn't studied hard enough for and she knew that she had to try to do something or say something to make this better.

"Mom, I'm sorry about what happened. I know it's no one's fault, but that doesn't make it any easier to accept." Haruka said sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck as she tried to figure out how best to continue. Anything having to do with emotions had never been her strong suit and though—she was putting forward a gallant attempt at consoling her mother—it felt weak, insincere, even to her.

That was when Moriko lost what little composure she had managed to regain. She tossed one of the teacups she had been rinsing roughly into the sink where it burst into a wave of tiny ceramic pieces, startling her daughter behind her into silence.

"What would you know about acceptance, Haruka, hm?!" Moriko's voice lowered to a sharp, dangerous tone causing the blonde teen to take a few steps back, "Have you ever had someone you love hurt you beyond your ability to heal? Have you ever been saddled with so much weight on your shoulders you thought it was going to suffocate you? Have you ever had a child that acted so unnaturally you knew other people whispered behind your back whenever you went somewhere with your family? Of course you don't! You know nothing of acceptance and I would appreciate it, Haruka, if you just wouldn't say anything about it around me. Just don't say anything!"

Haruka remained where she stood, frozen to the linoleum there as so many emotions flooded through her: fear, anger, hurt, guilt. Logically, a part of her knew that her mother was just lashing out in frustration because she finally had someone cornered long enough to let out all of the hurt she had been feeling, but another part of her rallied against that thought knowing that she didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. The blonde had just felt so damn helpless, like she had to do something to help and saying what she'd said obviously hadn't made anything better. In fact, she'd only made things worse, but it wasn't her fault was it? Her mother only ever rarely yelled at her and perhaps that was why this time it stung so bad. Haruka clamped her jaw tightly shut as she tried to keep the tears that were forming behind her lashes from forming and giving her away. She was hurt, but she wouldn't show it. What good would it do if she did?

Moriko didn't say anything else, just hunched over the sink and began to weep, her hands gripping the metal sides so hard her knuckles had drained of all their color.

Haruka was at a loss. What could she do to make this right? Should she do anything? No, do nothing, she would only make it worse with saying something else that was stupid because that's how she was. She had known that she wasn't any good with comforting words, but she still had to try. What else could she do except stand here and be helpless? Stand here and watch her mother crumble under every burden that had ever been dropped upon her shoulders? No she couldn't do that. She wouldn't do that…but then, what would she do?

Moriko turned around, her face wet with tears. Her voice was weak and she barely sounded as though she might still be breathing, but her white knuckles clasping the sink edge were proof enough of that. "Go away, Haruka, please," Moriko pleaded, broken now, more broken than she had ever felt. "Go somewhere, do anything, go back to your room, I don't care. I just…need to be alone right now, is all."

Haruka didn't budge at first and Moriko became more insistent almost vehement in her grief, "Go away, I said!"

She'd had to be told twice, but she'd be damned if she'd stand here to be told off like a slow ten year old for a third time. Like lightning, Haruka moved, but not back to her room. Instead, she swiped her keys off of the table and slammed the front door behind her as she retreated into the night. Her pace down the bungalow steps had been like snow sliding down a steep mountainside and once her shoes hit pavement, she ran. Haruka's breathing fell into a familiar rhythm as her feet began to pick up speed then she was sprinting then racing, where to she didn't know, just anywhere but here.

* * *

The water parted as the swimmer's lithe form moved through it. Midway through her glide on the surface, she flipped into a dive and swam down into the deep end of the pool. As the water darkened around her, Michiru closed her eyes and let buoyancy gradually pull her back up towards the surface. The taming quality the evening swims tended to have on her spirit, for some reason, couldn't dispel her restlessness tonight. Michiru sucked in a deep breath as she broke through the calm surface water and let it out in a ruthless rush of angry air.

Slowly, she made her way over to the side and pulled herself up the ladder. The pool room that accompanied the Olympic size swimming pool that occupied the lowest level of their mansion was left mainly undisturbed by the rest of the family members save her mother on some odd occasions. At all hours of the night, Michiru would be the only one down here, alone with her thoughts.

She reached for the liver-colored towel spread out on the back of a lounger and dabbed the water from her face and neck gently.

What was wrong with her? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a large wave stretching over the city like a shadow, heard the rush of the water like thunder in her ears. It had been happening on and off for the last few days, but the hallucinations—if they could even be called that—had started hitting her hard after school this afternoon and hadn't let up all evening. Like a current gaining momentum before it rounds into a new direction, the visions were growing more and more vivid. They wouldn't ebb or lessen, not even when she tried to relax or took an aspirin for the headache they were creating. It was how she'd known that she wouldn't be able to sleep.

Michiru had hoped that a good swim would clear her mind, help her work off some of the adrenaline and useless feelings of dread that were looming over her, but all it had done was exhaust her more. She wrapped the towel around her shoulders and stared down into the aquamarine depths of the pool.

_A ridge of the darkest ocean water hung, opaque and sturdy as a brick wall over Tokyo bay and the surrounding buildings. The tallest of the city's skyscrapers fell short of the liquid pinnacle at its height and the red, green, white, blue, and yellow fluorescent lights from apartment windows, billboards, and nightclubs were submerged in a world of blue shadow. People ran screaming like rodents in the streets, but their legs couldn't carry them fast enough away from the demon surf that it was the fate of all mankind to perish under…_

Michiru shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold. Why was she so disturbed by this particular vision? Granted, it wasn't a pleasant one, but it was like a disaster in a science fiction movie or novel. It wasn't like it was something _realistic,_ that really could happen and even if it did, what made it different than the torrent of tropical storms that their little archipelago had survived over the centuries? Why did this one terror consume her? Why did it feel like it could happen tomorrow?

"Because it can."

Michiru whipped her head around back towards the lounge chair where she had pulled her towel from. A tall dark haired woman was sitting there now, legs slanted to the side beneath an elegantly cut purple skirt, ankles crossed. Her skin was a medium tan and appeared smooth. The woman looked to be in her early twenties, but her garnet eyes held a feeling in their stare that seemed to Michiru to come from a time before time.

The girl in Michiru was suddenly at the forefront, making her feel frightened and vulnerable alone with this stranger in her own home. It was the sort of thing bad horror movies were made of. As Michiru contemplated whether or not she would be able to sprint to the double doors at the other side of the room before the longer legged woman could catch her, the older woman raised her hand calmly as if to say 'hold that thought'.

"Please," the older woman began gently, "I'm not here to hurt you."

"How did you get in here?" Michiru asked, her voice shaking.

Normally, her parents or brother told her when they were planning on having visitors and since it was a very late hour, no one accept maybe Koichi would still be awake. Michiru was certain that if her brother was anywhere right now, it wasn't in the mansion so there would have been no one there to let this woman in. So, _how_ had she managed to get into the house when both her parents and the servants were already asleep and not activate the alarm? What had she done? Materialized in midair? Mentally, Michiru shook her head. These hallucinations were beginning to make her crazy.

"You may not believe me, but you and I have met before," the woman continued in a soft, even tone, dodging Michiru's question altogether. "We were friends once, a long time ago."

Michiru's eyebrows rose in confusion, "No, I would have remembered you, even as a child. You're not a typical woman. You're more statuesque than most, more-like the goddess in Botticelli's _Venus de Milo _than anyone I've seen before. I wouldn't have forgotten you."

Setsuna smirked. _Ever the romantic charmer, _she thought.

"This is the first time we've met, in this life anyway," Setsuna said.

Michiru's voice wavered, fear rising again in her belly, "What do you mean 'in this life'?"

Things were beginning to get too weird and Michiru felt herself inching closer and closer towards the escape plan she had cultivated earlier. If all else failed, she could probably defend herself. Michiru—a girl with an older brother and a multitude of uncles and male cousins—had always been able to handle herself in a fight, but that was mostly with people who cared for her and had had no real intention of harming her in the first place. However, this woman was older, possibly stronger, and if the length of her legs was real and not a mirage of the imagination then Michiru might not have such high odds in her favor after all.

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Setsuna Meioh and I am the keeper of the Gates of Time and a sailor senshi."

Michiru stood still, looking the woman up and down from her small feet up over her lean sculpted calves up through her all too perfect torso and friendly smile. Yes, definitely a mirage. She was dreaming, that's what it was. Maybe she'd fallen asleep in one of the lounge chairs and had forgotten how she had gotten there. It had happened before once when she'd tried to pull an all-night swim practice for the national tournaments they were having the next day and Michiru had ended up being late because she had slept the whole early morning in the poolroom.

Michiru narrowed her eyes and announced, determined, "You're not real."

Setsuna mentally rolled her eyes. _Earthlings, why was it that they always assumed the improbable was impossible? Had their own history taught them nothing about themselves? _She had expected a reaction like this one, but it was always hard being constantly reminded of the shortcomings of the people she eternally guarded. The time senshi decided that it was time to make her presence known. She stood slowly, glad to see that the aqua haired girl across from her held her ground and didn't try to run away. That was a good sign. Setsuna hadn't awakened a senshi in at least a millennia or so and it was possible that she hadn't kept up with the times as much as she would have liked to. Perhaps, training this girl would help her get back in touch with that little part of her humanity she had lost over the thousands of years spent in isolation guarding the gates and watching civilizations be born and die from afar over and over and over again. Maybe this would be good for her, but the most important things came first.

Setsuna raised her arm above her head and instantly a purple and red wand with a ringed planet as its head appeared within her grasp out of thin air. Michiru's eyes widened like saucers, but she didn't have time to say anything as Setsuna shouted out a phrase and suddenly she was engulfed in another world of burgundy ribbons, encasing her naked form in a perfect white sailor fuka and short black skirt that didn't fall any lower than her upper thigh. Finally, a staff with a large garnet bulb at one end settled into her hands and as Setsuna swung it through the air with ageless grace, Michiru began to wonder if even her artistic imagination could conjure up a scene like this.

The butt end of the staff finally landed against the tiled floor of the poolroom, the sharp sound echoing off of the glass walls all around them for indescribable seconds afterward. When Michiru finally found her voice, it was barely above a whisper.

"What are you?"

"A sailor senshi," Pluto explained patiently, weighing her staff in her hands, "is a legendary warrior of our solar system. We haven't always existed, like all things, our time has come and gone and now it is here again. You, Michiru, are a sailor senshi as well."

Michiru swallowed and began to shake her head as her mind rebelled against such a thing.

"No, I can't be what you said I am—"

"—a sailor senshi—" Pluto kindly corrected

"—because I-I can't do that-that thing you just did."

For the first time in her life, Michiru Kaioh had been struck inarticulate by something. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

"You will be able to transform," Pluto informed her gently, "once I show you how to. We all have a patron planet where our powers come from and to which we are forever connected. You are the senshi of Neptune and your element is water, seawater to be exact."

Michiru suddenly heard the sound of the surf on a calm day in her ears and memories of being a child at her parents' boathouse on the coast began to flash through her line of vision: running in the water, swimming out too far and being carried back in by her father, finding the first ever conch shell that had sheltered her adolescent fascination with anything from the ocean.

"It wasn't all a coincidence was it?" Michiru asked, hollowly, realizing how contrived her entire existence had been.

Setsuna's face took on a mournful expression and she shook her head, "Nothing is a coincidence where we are concerned, I'm afraid."

Michiru's will and sense of self came back to her all in one powerful rush. "Why me? I'm just a teenager, I'm not even seventeen yet! What do you expect me to do?!" She shouted.

Setsuna realized how ludicrous the idea of a child being a soldier was to the modern human mind, but there was nothing she could do. The senshi of Neptune had to be awakened. Venus was already fighting the early reincarnation of their enemies in Britain and Europe, but too soon their noxious influences would filter through Asia and finally Japan searching for the one spark of light they had been reborn to snuff out of existence: the princess. That couldn't be allowed to happen. If it did the world as they knew it would end and this time it wouldn't come back. None of the other senshi had been located yet, but if Setsuna could find Uranus and Neptune, their combined power should be enough to hold off the wave of darkness creeping over the planet until the princess and the others could be found.

"We have dark enemies, Michiru, powerful enemies who would like to see nothing better than an end to all life on this and every other planet in the universe. It is our job as senshi to protect the Earth against these dark forces who would seek to destroy it," Setsuna explained.

Michiru closed her eyes and managed a deep breath. "This is insane," she mumbled dejectedly.

Setsuna agreed with her young charge on that point, but it was a moot one by now.

"Please—" She began.

"No!" Michiru seethed, "I refuse to listen to anymore of this! Get out! Get out before I call the police! Get out before I throw you out!"

Michiru squeezed her eyes shut tighter until bright colors infiltrated the bleakness. Her comfortable, dull, safe world had vanished to be replaced with what? A reality where she was cosmically blacklisted by fate to tidy the universe of evil people she didn't give a flying fuck for? No! She wouldn't stand for it.

A few moments passed in silence. Michiru felt the air around her grow colder and then suddenly spring back to room temperature again. When she finally opened her eyes she was alone again in a poolroom that was very much the same as it had been before save for Michiru's lost sense of security and the round, staff-shaped crack in one of the floor tiles.

* * *

Haruka had stopped to catch her breath at the storage garage on Fifth Street, where her mother had ordered all of her dad's tools and vehicles to be moved to along with a lot of the things they had owned when they were first married so they would be there if he ever did decide to return to them. Coincidentally—since her mother had already paid for the space—it was where Haruka was also allowed to keep two of her motorcycles. One was red and had once been her uncle's, that one most often sat parked outside the bungalow so she could ride it to school every morning.

The other was a yellowish-gold dream bike with black chrome facings. That custom ordered Ducati had been a gift from her grandfather before he'd died. Haruka let herself into the building and moved expertly through the musty darkness of the garage. She had found the bike before she'd even opened the garage door. The protective tarp was unclipped from around the slim body of the bike and thrown off to a place unseen. Haruka then grabbed a helmet, mounted up, and headed for the farthest corner of her district.

There was water in the streets and it splayed minimally beneath the motorcycle's tires as it sped over the pavement and rounded another of many curves in the road. A mist had risen over the bay, concealing the dark ocean from Haruka's view as she slowed to amble over towards the metal railing separating city from sea. The sun had been down for hours now and the street lights were fuzzy balls burning thin impressions through the fog.

Haruka moved to unbuckle her helmet. The strap came loose easily and her head slid out of the protective plastic. As she threw down the kickstand on her bike, the blonde sighed heavily. She was tired and it had been such a long time since she had slept through the night completely that she couldn't remember what being well rested felt like. On top of that she was irritable. Her thoughts were incoherent. Then there had been the incident with her mother…never in her life had Haruka heard her mother yell at her like that. Like she really hated her. It was surprising and…hurtful and though it made sense to her that being shouted out by her mother would hurt, it was surprising just how much her mother's vehemence had affected her.

The tall blonde had always prided herself on her ability to control her emotions and her ability to maintain her distance from everyone else. This innate talent came in handy when she had a fight with Harumi or broke up with one of the girls she had been "dating". She wasn't heartless, but it didn't make sense to her to fall apart every time everyone else did. What good would it do? Really?

Most of the girls she'd broken up with were better off now. The ignored her completely or gave her the cold shoulder whenever she crossed paths with them in the hall, but in large part, they seemed happier, healed from their experiences with her. Complete in a way she wasn't.

Haruka was broken, she could never heal. Why she felt that way, she wasn't for certain, but it had always proven to be true.

_There are reasons I keep my distance_, Haruka thought as she tucked the helmet under her arm and moved to lean her hip against the railing. The coolness of the fog collected on the warm skin of her face, obscuring the evidence of tears shed on the drive. Never would the tall blonde admit to crying. Tears were beyond her. It was something she had always known about herself. Intrinsically. As if she could separate her consciousness from her body and look down through all of the layers of superficial stuff to her center and see the void there. See that there was something vital that was missing in herself. That had never been there to begin with. It seemed like a foolish thing to say out loud to Harumi or her mom, but to Haruka, it made perfect sense.

Why had her father abandoned them, more specifically why had he abandoned _her_? Because she couldn't be the son he had wanted. Because he had been an incompetent loser who mom had wasted her time on. Those were the excuses their mother gave whenever they asked, either that or that she really didn't know, but there was always a reason why something happened and Haruka believed she was that reason.

The ironic thing was, though, that Haruka was better at a lot of things than most boys. She could tie three separate tie knots when most boys she knew still wore clip-ons. She could more than hold her own in a fight and according to quite a few girls, she was a damn better lover than a lot of the guys she could name in her year and above. But she would never quite have a foot in that masculine world.

She would never be—and never wanted to be—a boy. She could never legally marry a woman she was in love with and be her husband, be a father to children, or lead any sort of domestic life she felt she would be satisfied with. And yet, Haruka would never be a normal girl. She would never marry a man, she would never have children by one, or have a son to carry on her husband's all-so-important family legacy. Haruka couldn't be both and she couldn't be either. In this way, she was incomplete, a part of her was lacking. It had all started with her father's abandonment.

_He must have known_, Haruka thought, _that he'd lost a son and gained some sort of deformed thing that could never be like other men's children. _

The sting started up again behind her eyes and Haruka gripped the railing until her knuckles hurt. Damn it. There was just no controlling it. Maybe doing something constructive would help instead of standing out here brooding. The tall blonde hopped on her bike again and zoomed down a few side streets she frequented on days when she didn't have school and pulled up next to a flower stall. Buying flowers for her mother wouldn't solve their money problem, but it would make Haruka feel better about the argument they'd had. Right now, feeling better was all that mattered.

The sidewalks weren't particularly busy with people, but they weren't dead either. More than the odd night traveler passed Haruka as she put down the kick stand and removed her helmet for the second time that evening. An old man in a tweed suit that looked to be as about old and threadbare as he was, tended to the flower buckets, tenderly rearranging the single stems at odd intervals; sometimes pulling one or two up from its cold bath to snip off a rotten end or two. In the middle of pruning a rose, the old man caught sight of Haruka and waved.

"Hello, dear girl. How have you been?"

Haruka stuffed her hands in her jean pockets and placated a false smile.

"Evening, Mr. Namida. Very well, thanks. I'd like to pick up a few flowers, if you don't mind."

Mr. Namida wiped his hands on his leather apron and stood, "Not at all. For a girl I imagine?"

Haruka shook her head and moved to stand beside the flower buckets so she could decide more easily which ones she would like to buy.

"For my mother," Haruka explained. "We had an argument of sorts before I left home and I feel like I need to make it up to her."

Mr. Namida rubbed his grey goatee thoughtfully.

"I can offer several suggestions if you're interested?"

"Please," Haruka pleaded.

The hopeless tone in Haruka's voice made Mr. Namida chuckle, "Let's see. The dark pink rose embodies compassion and forgiveness. It might be a good place to start."

Haruka nodded, "Perfect, I will take half a dozen of those, please."

Mr. Namida smiled and began the delicate process of preparing the bouquet to travel. Meanwhile, Haruka's hands reached into her pockets and encountered thin air.

"Wait," she grimaced. "I didn't bring any money with me."

Mr. Namida continued rolling the flowers in wax paper and tying them together with one long swath of red ribbon, "You can pay me next time you see me, dear girl. Until then pay my respects to your lovely mother, will you?"

The old man and his wife had always had a soft spot in their hearts for her mother.

Haruka smiled, "Will do."

The flowers were secured into a saddle bag and as an ill wind began to blow, the blonde zipped up her jacket, strapped on her helmet, and rode off into the rising storm.

* * *

If sleeping wasn't so necessary for existence, Michiru would have gone completely without it.

As it was, pacing across her room wasn't helping her get much rest either. Her restlessness had transformed into something a good deal more sinister. Now, she couldn't even sit down to draw or read without feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Something was wrong. She'd hoped she had been overreacting. She had even gone down stairs and double checked all of the locks and that the outside alarm was on, but none of it made her feel any more at ease than she had before.

The rise of the hectic surf in her ears made it impossible for Michiru to hear the slap of her barefooted feet against the hardwood floor as she marched from wall to wall of her bedroom. She could feel the tide—as if it was a human thing—filling her up and then fiercely abandoning her just as quickly as it came, leaving her stomach to do flip-flops in the emptiness that remained. The wind was rapping against the shutters protecting her windows from the fragmenting rain at the same tempo that the current within her raged.

Something _was _wrong!

Every iota of Michiru's body was screaming at her to do something about it, to do something to stop the deadly flood drowning it, but what could she do? She didn't even know if what she was feeling was valid. To her own specifications, everything in their home was quiet. The doors and windows on all floors were locked and tucked up for the night. The alarm system was on and everyone but her seemed to be asleep, even Koichi who had crept in about an hour ago with his own key. There was nothing she could do because everything was fine. She was just being a crazy woman again. Maybe when her mother woke up, she would talk to her about seeing a counselor about these strange delusions…

Michiru sighed and closed her eyes. _It was there again, the wall of water looming over the city ready to push it into oblivion. This time it was different though. The green haired woman she'd seen in the pool room was there, standing in the middle of a deserted street, staff held firmly in both hands. The wave moved towards her propelled by its own momentum, in slow motion at first, then all too quickly. _

_Michiru shrieked. She shouted and tried to run towards Setsuna to pull her out of the way, but the time senshi held her ground. _

"_What are you doing?!" Michiru shouted. "Run! It's going to kill us all." _

"_Where would you have me run to, Michiru? Surely you of all people must know that once the sea engulfs this island and the earth falls into darkness, there will be no place to run to." _

_Setsuna raised her staff and the wave stopped where the ceramic surface of the weapon met salt water. Michiru watched, wide eyed, as the time senshi struggled against the fury of nature. Surely, she wasn't going to win. No one could win against something like that. They were both going to die anyway so why even try…but if Michiru really felt that way then why was every cell in her body propelling her forward towards the two warring forces? Setsuna took a step back, the harsh spray of water beginning to overcome her. _

_Michiru stopped in her tracks and raised her arms to shield the water from her face. _

"_Why?!" She shouted, into the swirling abyss flooding around them. _

"_It doesn't have to be this way," Setsuna gritted her teeth as her staff was swept away from her by a jet of seawater and she lost her footing, "Give into your true self and it won't be!"_

_Then the waves took them both and the world was submerged in a strangling darkness… _

Michiru came back to reality gasping as if she had held her breath too long. She was in her room again and both of her feet were solidly planted on the ground. The wind rattled against the shutters wetly once or twice, but aside from that everything was quiet. Michiru took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. That wasn't the first time tonight that she had fallen completely out of reality and into the not-so-tranquil sea of her own subconscious fears. She was sure it wasn't a coincidence; things like that just didn't happen for no reason at all.

The rain ravaged wind rattled the shutters of her room another time more fiercely than before as if it was trying to break through the imported wood to reach her. The current inside of Michiru swelled in her chest at the invitation and she knew then—she knew in that one moment of intense feeling that where she needed to be was wherever the wind called her like it called the waves of the ocean. Without, hesitation, she grabbed her jacket and ran down stairs and out into the rain where the waves were calling her.

* * *

_**Reviews Please. :]**_


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